Winding Circle: The Magic Raiders
by Tessadragon
Summary: Sheila's magic was stolen. She doesn't care about getting it back, just about staying alive. But now she has no choice, another mage is in danger of the same ordeal.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Based on Tamora Pierce's Winding Circle stories.

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Winding Circle: The Magic Raiders

Chapter 1

A cart made its stumbling way, pulled by two horses with bowed necks, to the Winding Circle temple gates. Guards with white faces rushed to let it in. She watched from the branches of the highest tree she could find, the gloomy chestnut tree. She no longer trembled. The only sign of her nervousness was a shiver of old pain tingling down her left shoulder blade.

She had been living at the Winding Circle temple for a year. Before that, she was a street-urchin. Back then, she had magic in abundance. Now she was lucky if she could manipulate a shadow, let alone an illusion. Her magic was illusion, her favourite was shadows. As a pickpocket, she could twist everything, make a victim see a broad-shouldered wrestler instead of herself, the midget. She could enfold herself in shadows, like the ultimate invisibility.

But then the mages had come, evil as demons. They'd caught her like the harmless effort of swatting a fly. _Mila help any poor soul that should come ill of them_, she thought angrily and headed into the halls for food. In there, hundreds of girls, some she betted had magic, some just noble maidens, or daughters of traders, or daughters of merchants, anything, sat at tables, chattering, gabbing about everything that didn't interest her.

"Sheila," one of the girls said snidely, passing by her with a laden plate of stew and two bread rolls, "anyone would swear you are an orphan."

"Her parents threw her out into the gutter!" one of the girls laughed loudly.

"Nah!" one of the others called, "she killed them!"

The first girl stuck her nose down at Sheila. "Or maybe you were born in the gutter. Your mother's a horse's pile of dung, and your father's a bit of flea-ridden sacking even beggars wouldn't touch."

Sheila's shoulders straightened and she, without a thought, stuck out her foot, rushed it forward and hooked it behind the girl's knee, yanked as hard as she could.

The girl with the laden plate tripped over it, slamming her chin horribly hard against the floor with a high cry of pain. Immediately, silence flashed throughout the hall. Without seeing the glower on the nearest mage's face, Sheila knew she was going to be in trouble again. She turned back to dipping her bread roll into her stew, chewing it as she thought about the cart she'd seen earlier.

"Sheila," the Initiate said sternly, and grabbed her arm, forcing her to her feet. "Come with me, right now!"

The girl she'd tripped was bawling now, her chin bleeding and a single tooth on the floor. Her smile wouldn't be as perfect without it.

"I hope you get thrown out!" the girl blubbered at Sheila. "You're stupid, smelly, murderous—"

Sheila didn't let her get any further.

With a mutter, she got up and crouched, grabbing the girl by the arm, even as the Initiate growled, annoyed, trying to force Sheila to stand up and leave the rich girl alone.

She only had a split second: pulling the girl up, she hissed in her ear "I can kill who I like, you dung-mouthed rabbit!"

The girl stared at her, appalled and a flicker of fear went through her green eyes. Sheila didn't even bother giving her the nastiest smile.

With a shrug, Sheila left with the Initiate. She knew what was coming up, as the Initiate tugged her arm and led her briskly down stone corridors, some with interesting rugs, some with very plain stone floors. The Initiate muttered her opinion of Sheila under her breath. Sheila hid a smile: sometimes, in a fit of gladness, she eagerly awaited this part of the day, for it was more interesting to talk with Moonstream.

As always, Moonstream sighed loudly when it was Sheila who came into her study. "What have you done now?" she demanded, losing her usual patience. "You were only here yesterday, Sheila!"

Sheila nodded: she hadn't actually planned to be sent to Moonstream yesterday, but many things weren't planned in her life, so she had learned to go with the flow. "I tripped a girl."

"And what did she do to deserve your wrath?" Moonstream sighed, knowing Sheila a little better than the initiates who often brought Sheila here.

"She said I'd killed my parents, or that I'd been thrown out by them," Sheila replied calmly. "She also called them sacks and horse dung."

"How lovely, that someone has the bravery to suggest a few theories of why you are not with your family," Moonstream said dryly, her eyes darker for a moment.

"And I do know that if I said, then it could clear it all up," Sheila nodded politely.

"But you have your own reasons for swearing silence," Moonstream interpreted from the stubborn, quiet look in the former vagabond's eyes.

Sheila nodded again.

"I'd send you to Rosethorn to dunk you in her well, if you had any magic," Moonstream said shortly. "I'd send you to be looked after by Lark and Rosethorn if they didn't at the moment have enough to look after, not to mention that you don't---" she fell silent, saddened.

"Don't have magic," Sheila said bluntly. "And I'm wondering if I'll ever get any revenge for that."

"I doubt it," Moonstream said quietly. "You never tell us anything about it. You are a mystery, Sheila." She went and fetched a letter from her desk. "I asked a favour of a friend, to see if we could find any of your past. He went to your oldest haunt, where there was less chance of too many memories staining the place, and he cast the spell to find out what had happened there."

She held the letter in her hand, like she was considering letting Sheila read it. But Sheila wasn't interested and stepped back towards the door.

"He found nothing," Sheila interpreted from the weary look on Moonstream's face. "Good."

"Oh, go," Moonstream said finally, impatiently. "If you've decided that it is a waste of time to know where you are from, then it _will_ be a waste of time. Don't you dare go assaulting any more people. Enough people clamour for you to be sent to other temples, or even handed to the courts, for the quarries to employ."

Sheila nodded, "yes, ma'am." Glad that they were finally understanding each other, she slipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Then she abruptly turned back on her heel. "Moonstream—!" she began.

Moonstream looked up at her, warily keen to know what was on Sheila's mind.

Sheila licked her lower lip, nervous. "The cart? This afternoon? I saw it. Was it...?" she shut up, embarrassed, then shook her head and fled the room.

"Yes," Moonstream said quietly. "Yes, it was."


	2. Chapter 2

I have no real excuse for waiting so long to update this, so I am very sorry for that. Here is the second chapter of Sheila's adventure.

My thanks to: blue mariposa, On top of cloud 9, Zerrin of the Wind, Kitunny and Da Demon Mystrice for reviewing.

Note, I haven't quite decided whether Sandry, Briar, Tris or Daja will be involved in this story...Sheila's been dictating the story to me, taking her time about it.

Tessadragon

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Chapter 2

Sheila wasn't used to sleeping at night; that was why she lay restless, the quilt tossed on the floor. She wore nothing but a simple pale shift and gazed numbly up at the ceiling, trapped in dreams of her past.

Sometimes her past wasn't clear, even to her, but she remembered flashes of it. She remembered many horses, and she remembered a garden of jasmine. And a voice. A man's voice, calm, cool and authoritative. And something enthralling about fire. It was the fire that she couldn't understand. How did that fire cast so many shadows?

Agitated, she rolled out of bed and went to the window, gazed out at the courtyard. By day it was cheerful, many girls and all kinds of initiates strolling through it, or trimming its many bushes. But now, at night, it was pitch black, but for the tiny gleam of a lamp within the cart, which lay dormant just beyond the old elm tree.

Her dark eyes danced from the full dormitory, her ears taking in the mumbling snores of her fellow boarders, and then she pulled the window fully open and climbed out, grabbing hold of the thick coat of ivy and slowly lowering herself as near to the ground, her ears attuned to the sound of breaking ivy leaves.

Softly she landed barefoot on the courtyard flagstones and, crouching, hurried to the covered cart. For a moment she stood still, listening intently for the sound of any humans. Nothing…she reached out and lifted the cover, peered in, then recoiled.

"A body," she whispered.

It was a girl, laid out ready for burial. Her face had been cleaned: it still shone with water. Her clothes were already that of a funeral shroud. Sheila numbly looked at what might as well be her own reflection: this body had once had magic, but just like her, it had been stripped of it. She reeled as a foul memory shot through her:

A cavern with many shadows. The vile smell of rotting flesh. A door…she didn't want it to open. She didn't want the two men to return. She was curled up in a stone cell. Distantly she heard a great and terrible, raging river, but over it was the loud, sharp guttering lamp, which filled the cavern outside her cell with sharp shards of relief as it noisily devoured the animal fat which it was fed by her jailers.

Then the cavern door swung open. Oh god, she remembered that shrill grating of metal across rock. Her body clenched against it, and she shoved herself into the corner of her cell, quivering.

And then she was back in the courtyard, awoken from her nightmare by having fallen back against the flagstones. She lay, her eyes wide open with fear. Then a tear slowly forced its way down her cheek, as initiates came out and approached her. Moonstream was at the front of the group, her face expressionless.

"Leave me alone!" Sheila yelled at them, laying the blame on them for having aroused her curiosity, leading her to come look at the corpse. She scrambled to her feet, shot them all a murderous look and then ran. The initiates gave chase, but for Moonstream, who called after Sheila, "Come back…it isn't safe out there."

_No. The world isn't safe_, Sheila thought bitterly. _But at least I know who I can trust. Me._

She ran faster into the night, leapt over the walls of Winding Circle and landed, rolling, on the ground, surged to her feet and ducked her head against the wind-rush. Through the night she fled down the rocky hillsides, skidding, almost plunging into an uncontrollable fall, then landed rolling on the road, just as the loud clatter of hooves rose through the early dark air. She pressed herself against the rocks at the side of the road as a line of great shire horses stamped their way down the narrow road, followed closely by a number of gaudy caravans, many from which chimes rang, warding off evil. Lamplight splashed over Sheila's face as she began watching this spectacle, entranced.

"Ahoy! Who spies?" a man called out sternly, and a swinging lamp settled its light focus upon Sheila, whose own eyes were sharp enough to define this man's face just as well in this dim darkness. He was a handsome older man with fine curly brown hair, touched by silver at the very ends and close to his scalp at his fringe. He was clean-shaven and his eyes were like obsidian to everyone else, but with a sparkle of dark blue, like sapphire, to Sheila.

Slowly, unsteadily, Sheila got to her feet, then fell immediately, her ankle giving way. She landed heavily and swallowed her own cry of pain, expecting that the caravan would hastily make its way onwards.

Instead the man jumped from his ledge where he'd steered his shire horse, and landed lightly, coming straight to her and taking off his black cloak as he came. Draping his cloak over her shoulders in an attempt to chase the blue cold from her lips, he helped her to his feet, murmuring, "Lean on me, my dear." He guided her to the caravan and up into the back as someone from two caravans behind called to him, "Is there a problem?"

"I should get the caravan moving," the stranger told Sheila. "Can you abide until we can come to a resting place?"

It is to get away from Winding Circle, Sheila thought reasonably. "I am very grateful for your attention, sir," she said quietly and curled up against the wall, too tired to look at the interior of this cosy caravan.

The stranger leapt back sprightly to his place and clucked to his shire horse. "C'mon, Asparagus. Not too giddy, but a little way up the road." The shire horse gave out a heavy low neigh and began a slow trot up the narrow road, small stones skipping from his dish-sized hooves, while Sheila slept and forgot her temporary wonders of what would happen tomorrow.


End file.
